


Good Behaviour

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Handcuffs, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 19: Handcuffs. Dean tries to modify Sam’s behaviour, inside and outside of the bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

Sam’s pissy after the job, mostly because he’d had an argument with their father over the haunted train the boys had just dispatched, and his father had been right. That never went over well with Sam. He’d had his bitchface on while Dean cleaned the gravel out of his lower back, and had resisted Dean’s advances so far, the jerk. He’d all but shut the door in Dean’s face when he went in to shower, and that never went over well with Dean. It has been a few days, and he recognizes Sam’s brooding, and fully intends to break his brother out of it.

Sam actually _snarls_ at him, coming out of the bathroom, and Dean stands up. Enough already. He strides over, grabs his brother by the arm, yanking the towel away, and plants a hellacious pair of swats on Sam’s ass.

“That’s enough, Sam. Now get on the fucking bed so I can cover that wound up before you get it infected.”

Sam turns and tries to stare him down, but Dean doesn’t ease his grip. It isn’t until Dean starts to yank him around, intending to swat him again that he moves towards the bed. He collapses into it, and is thankful that this time the wound is on his back, so he doesn’t have to look at his brother. Dean gets on with more antiseptic and bandages. Looking at the two bright red handprints on Sam’s ass, he relents a little, and smoothes arnica cream into the bruising that’s starting to show around the wound. He rests a hand on Sam’s back, and is rewarded with a growl. Well, fine.

Dean whips the handcuffs out of his back pocket, kneels on Sam, and has him cuffed in seconds. Really, Sam needs to work on his reaction time, because Dean’s lost count of the number of times he’s been able to pin Sam lately – and fast, too. Sam’s starting to fight, and Dean simply gets him sitting upright, then straddles the gigantic legs and takes a seat on them. Sam isn’t going anywhere. He simply waits until Sam’s fury wears itself out, and Sam sags with tiredness.

“Better,” he asks, and forces Sam’s chin up to look at him. Sam shrugs a little, and Dean doesn’t like the lost look in his eyes. He leans in, kisses Sam – nothing special, just one of those, _hey stupid, I’m here_ , kind of kisses, and the younger boy leans into it. Dean’s got him just where he wants him, and he massages his long fingers along the tight chest, down over that sexy sixpack. Sam gives him puppy dog eyes, eyes that say _I know what you’re doing, bastard, but it feels fucking awesome, so I’ll quit fussing_. Dean feels a deep sense of satisfaction as Sam’s cock wakes up, and the kid lets a moan slip through his tightly compressed lips. Dean smiles into the next kiss, and lets his hands wander lower. It isn’t long before the boy is begging.

“Dean, let me out of these things.”

“What’s that, Sammy?” His murmur purrs into the pink shell of Sam’s ear, and Sam squirms, trying to focus.

“Let me out.”

“I don’t think so,” comes the sleek reply. “You’re behaving yourself pretty well right now, wouldn’t want that to change.” His tongue dances down Sam’s chest, and he traces around the attentive nipples, and nips at them sharply, eliciting a few whimpers, and some stammered pleas. He works his tongue downward.

“You’ll have to let me out if you want me,” gasps Sam.

Dean’s answering chuckle gets Sam even harder, and Sam knows that he doesn’t have a chance – he’s going to have to just try and go with the flow- his train of thought derails neatly as a tongue swirls around his cock, and his mouth gives over to begging. Part of his mind sits back and protests the begging, and the rest of it turns his former belligerence inward to squash the objection.

Sam wants badly to put his arms around his brother, to pull Dean in for a kiss, and he’s helpless, frustrated. Dean’s touches, his caresses, the kisses and bites, they’re taking Sam onto another plane, but the frustration doesn’t quite go away, so he begs, pleads, for Dean to fuck him. Dean’s amusement is still tangible, but a few minutes later he’s easing Sam down to the bed, laying him on his side – ever careful, doesn’t want to strain Sam’s neck by putting him on his knees, or risk his circulation by laying him on his back, atop his cuffed hands.

Dean’s slick fingers open Sam up, as he spoons up behind him, shudders wrack the boy’s body as his desire to hold Dean overwhelms him. His pleas are stayed for a moment, by Dean’s long cock sliding home, his hands are splayed flat against Dean’s abs. The motion of the musculature there fascinates him for a time, until Dean’s rhythm picks up, piques the interest of Sam’s prostate, and tantalizes it over and over until Sam is coming despite himself. The iron velvet fist that closes around Dean’s thrusting cock is too much for him, and his own climax rages through him seconds later. They’re both overcome by the aftershocks, whimpering.

When Dean’s body stills, he reaches a hand up to thread through Sam’s hair, trails his fingertips over the boy’s face, expecting to feel it slack and relaxed. He encounters tears instead, and he’s up in a flash. He’s unlocking Sam, turning him around, and taking the kid into his arms, rocking with him. Sam’s lanky frame seems to shrink as he huddles into Dean’s embrace, wraps his long arms around Dean’s strong shoulders. He’s shivering with the strain of his emotions, and as Dean strokes his hair more tears come tumbling down. The boy is shaking with quiet sobs, worrying Dean.

“What’s the matter, baby?” It takes a few minutes of soft touches – Dean’s ignoring the girly moment in favor of his concern for his lover – before Sam can reply.

“I couldn’t touch you,” he sobs, ashamed of himself, ashamed of the tears, knowing Dean is going to hate him for crying. Instead, the older man is gathering him close, rocking him a little. He cries harder, and then a dreamy lassitude comes over him, as the tears fade naturally. Dean gently, gently lifts Sam’s chin up, so Sam’s looking in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby. I won’t restrain you again, ok?”

Sam sniffles. “But I like some of it.”

Dean’s laughter is gentle, a rare sound. “Me too. But I won’t cuff your hands behind you again, ok?”

“Ok.” Sam sounds about like he’s five, but Dean brings their lips together in a soft kiss, a promise made, and when the exhaustion finally hits him, he lays down, Sam sheltered carefully in his arms.


End file.
